


Angels and Monsters

by BroadwayStarletQueen



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Choose Your Own Ending, Crossover, Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, F/M, Love, M/M, Romance, Sad, Two different endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayStarletQueen/pseuds/BroadwayStarletQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor, John, River, and Sherlock all wake up in a graveyard-they've defeated the angels at St. Bart's with a paradox and everyone has made it out alive But one stray angel takes away a dearly loved man, and the one he leaves behind has to make a choice. (Two different versions of the same story-Angels Take Manhattan, Wholock style.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, my cheerios! Here's my first ever crossover piece, based on a gif floating around tumblr that everyone's been talking about but I can't seem to find.
> 
> This is what I see happening if Sherlock and John had replaced Amy and Rory in The Angels Take Manhattan. Imagine this takes place right after the gang wakes up in the graveyard (this time in London) after the couple jumps.
> 
> In order to write this piece, I had to decide which man would make the choice to follow the other and let the angel kill them. I couldn't pick who it should be, I really couldn't. I mean, on the one hand, it gives John a chance to make the bravest choice and show his loyalty while also realizing his feelings for Sherlock are things he has to fight for. On the other, it gives Sherlock to chance to choose between traveling with someone even cleverer than him or facing the unknown, for the sake of his best friend.
> 
> So I decided, "Why not both?" *piñata party with nachos!*
> 
> I have written two versions of this story. This chapter leaves John behind and takes Sherlock back in time. The next will be an entirely different version where Sherlock is left behind. The final chapter is the afterword for the Doctor. This is implied Johnlock, to be taken however you will-an established relationship, unrealized feelings that are only realized after the angel intervenes, or even just friends if you like.
> 
> Tell me which one you enjoy more. I'd love to hear. Toodle pip!

"John," Sherlock called across the graveyard, trying to keep the hint of fear out of his voice. "John, wait."

John, who'd been trudging toward the TARDIS, hands jammed in his pockets, turned around. He blinked in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"The gravestone." Sherlock's eyes flitted over the polished black stone, reading but not quite comprehending. "The gravestone, John. I thought we'd—this doesn't make sense.  _Think_ , I need to  _think_." He pressed his fingers to his temples, feeling lost. "John, please. Come over here. NOW."

He didn't wish to argue; he joined the consulting detective while only faintly muttering, "Come on, Sherlock. Let's just get back to the TARDIS. The Doctor promised to take us home…"

Then he stopped.

"Sherlock…" he began, looking for an explanation. "Sherlock, what is this?"

The detective swallowed, trying to figure it, and he turned to John. He could depend on John. John would help him find the answer.

And then he disappeared into the mist, sucked out of the air with only the imprint of his last pleading expression ringing through John's memory.

Behind the space where he'd stood only seconds before—a weathered angel, hand outstretched. All it had taken was grazing the collar of Sherlock's dark coat, and the greatest man John had ever known was gone. In the blink of an eye. One blink.

After all they'd done to save him, to escape, to tear apart the universe to keep them together, it had only taken a blink. A second of inattention. A ridiculous oversight that cost John everything.

"N-no," John breathed, feeling the wind knocked out of him. "No.  _No_. Nonononono."

The Doctor peeked his head out of the TARDIS door, looking for the two men. Only finding one, he shouted, "John! Everything all right?"

"D-Doctor. Doctor, get over here. Now. Please."

The Doctor furrowed his brows, getting the feeling that something horrible, something truly terrible right to the marrow of his bones, had just happened. Trembling slightly, he reached for River's hand and led her out of the TARDIS.

River caught on first. "John," she said firmly, "where is Sherlock?"

John had starting shaking, unable to stop. "He—the angel—there was another angel, Doctor. What do we do? Can we, erm, trace him?"

The Doctor stopped cold, fixing his eyes on the old angel. Keeping his eyes fixed on the statue, he squelched the hate and boiling anger in his hearts and told him, "I'm so sorry, John. There isn't anything we can do."

"That's rubbish!" John laughed nervously. He couldn't, not for one moment, believe him. "We can, uh, use a temporal map. Match the coordinates, take us back to where he is. Use heat signatures, or whatever the angel gives off. Energy tracking. He can't have gone far, this angel is weak, right? He can't be more than a decade off, yeah?"

"No, John." The Doctor tried to step forward but found himself rooted to the spot. "If we took the TARDIS back to Sherlock, it would blow a whole in the middle of London. Tear apart the universe." He paused, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry. Sherlock is…gone."

"No.  _No_ ," John insisted. "That is  _unacceptable_. You're a Time Lord. You can break the rules once in a while—change the future. Bring him back. Bring him back to me."

"There are already too many paradoxes because of what happened at St. Bart's. The TARDIS will bounce right off of it. There isn't anything I can do."

"NO! There is something, there has to be something. There has to be  _something_!" John tried to hold on to his reason, trying for all his might to use the brain Sherlock had always said he had, but never used. "River, please. I can't—leave him. He can't be gone. I already lost him once, I can't ever—please, River, tell me there's something."

River tried to hold back tears. She knew there was nothing in time or space that could reverse what had been done. And yet, she could empathize with the man in front of her, so complicatedly entwined with the man who'd disappeared. She knew what it was like to be connected to someone so brilliant, so extraordinary. She made her voice gentle. "John. It's not your fault. It was just an accident. He's not dead, he's just far away. He can still live out his life—"

"Without me. He will be alone, River. He can't be alone. He should never have to be, not while I'm alive. And I just can't—River, I can't leave him. He's…you know. You all know."

River smiled. "Yes, I know. And he knew, too."

"But I never told him!" shouted John, falling into exquisitely broken pieces. "I never told him, and now he won't ever know, that arrogant sod. And he has to live out the rest of his life alone. I can't let that happen."

The Doctor sighed deeply, trying to gain control of the situation. "John, I'm sorry. Let's get you home. Back in the TARDIS, come on."

"I'm not coming."

"Don't be stupid, John—come back. We can take you to 221B, River will make you some tea. Or maybe we can fit in a quick adventure. That will cheer you up—let's go. Ulula 5, great planet, everyone is a masseuse—"

"Doctor, I'm not coming back."

"John," River coaxed him, "you can't do anything by just waiting here. He's…gone. But he would have wanted you to move on, sweetie. You know it would kill him to see you wait for him. Besides, the gravestone says he was born in 1854, died in 1926. You would never meet him in this life."

She moved forward, keeping her eyes on the angel, and pressed a comforting hand to John's arm. "John, love, we have to go. It's too dangerous to stay here. Please just get back to the TARDIS."

"River." John stood his ground. "River, if it were the Doctor…if it were the Doctor, what would you do? You'd do anything, wouldn't you?"

"That's not the point."

"It's exactly the point. I can't leave him on his own, if not for my own good, than for his!" John paced in front of the angel, keeping its eyes fixed on the frozen demon.

When Sherlock had come back to him—a miracle, a blast of light in the dark of the months that followed Sherlock's fall—he'd revealed to John that Moriarty had accused him in the moments before their deaths of him being an angel. Yet Sherlock had insisted that he was only in league with the good side, and at his core, he was just as demonic as Moriarty. A brilliant, deceptive monster.

"He always thought—he wasn't good. Not good enough. And if this were just about me, about the empty life I'm going to have to live without that bloody man, then I'd let it go. But it's not about me, it's about him. It's about him having to live the rest of his life alone, with no one to reassure him that he is NOT a monster. He is  _my_ responsibility. He's _mine_."

He continued to pace, telling himself to think like Sherlock.  _Think, think—what would he deduce? What conclusion would he find? What's the solution?_

_He's gone. Sucked back in time._

_I'm here. He can't come back._

_But._

"Doctor," he said tentatively. "Doctor, the gravestone…it has room for one more name, yeah?"

"What?"

"That bloody gravestone. There's room for one more name, at the bottom. Just one more."

"John, you're talking nonsense. Please, just come aboard the TARDIS. My invitation for you still stands. You can travel with me. I promise, everything is going to be okay— _NO!_ " the Doctor cried, raw and tearful, as John took a step toward the statue.

John swallowed, more fearful than he'd ever been in his life. "That angel—it could—send me back. To his time. It just wants the energy, yeah? The energy of the life I could have lived? It doesn't have anything against me, it just wants the energy. So it wouldn't begrudge me from being in the same time as him."

"John, you can't know that for sure! He could send you to the beginning of the world, for all we know—you can't do this—"

" _What choice do I have?_ "

" _JUST COME BACK_ ," the Doctor roared. "John, I can't lose you, too. Please. Come back to the TARDIS. Please, please,  _please_ , step away from the angel. Let's leave."

"I can't, Doctor." John took another tentative step. "He needs me. And I love him too much to ever make him live alone. River, will this work?"

She nodded vigorously. "It's the best chance you have, John. But there's no guarantee."

"All I need is a chance." He held his hand out for River to squeeze one last time, knowing he was going to miss that flirty, mad lady. "Please, tell Mrs. Hudson we're sorry, and that we've gone on indefinite holiday. Tell her we'll miss her, and thank you. Tell her she was bloody brilliant."

"John, no!" the Doctor yelled, scrabbling forward to hold John back.

"Tell Lestrade we're sorry, and that he'll have to manage. Tell him he—he can do it. Tell Mycroft we're going to be okay. Tell them all we're sorry. Tell them we're happy."

"You  _don't_   _know_ —"

"I do know." John smiled. "I'll be with him. Together. We're going to be happy. Me and Sherlock, like we're supposed to be. Tea and scones and shooting the wall. Running for our lives, wherever we are. Together or not at all."

"John.  _JOHN_. Please." The Doctor begged John, his voice thick with uncontrollable tears. "Just—just come back, into the TARDIS."

"Doctor—" John cut himself off to stifle a cry with the palm of his hand. He held his other hand behind him. "Doctor, please. Take my hand. Hold onto me until I go."

The Doctor debated any form of tackling in his brain, but he knew it was useless, so he grasped his dear friend's hand. He couldn't believe this was happening. This was his fault. This was horrible. This was the end of things.

John cleared his throat to get out what he had to say. "Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for bringing me some of the most exciting adventures of my entire life. I won't forget a single moment, not ever. You brought…wonder back into both our lives. And I can never tell you how much it means to me. But I'm sorry—no amount of adventure could equal him. I have to go."

"John…John, please,  _don't_."

"Goodbye, Doctor."

John released his hand and stepped toward the angel.

The Doctor let the tears spill from his eyes and run down his face. "Goodbye, Doctor Watson."

John closed his eyes, giving himself up, and without a sound—he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the Sherlock chapter, which exists on its own-it's not a continuation of the last chapter. It's kind of like choose-your-own-adventure: you get to pick which one you like best.
> 
> I'd play the music from this scene in the Angels Take Manhattan, if you can find it on YouTube. I played it for about an hour straight to finish writing this piece.
> 
> Let me know which chapter you thought was more effective!

"That was— _brilliant_!" Sherlock exclaimed, tugging John behind him. "That was  _fantastic_!"

"Yeah, I know. You were right." John blew hair out of his eyes. "Don't ever do that again. Paradox or not, I have now seen you jump off a building  _twice_."

"It doesn't count if you jumped with me the second time." Sherlock paused a few yards off from the TARDIS, where River and the Doctor had also woken up minutes ago. They were currently cleaning the sides of the police box, bickering over the light bulb. "Why did you jump with me, exactly?"

"You're the detective. Figure it out."

Sherlock smiled and kept walking. "Idiot. I already have."

John planted himself firmly on his own two feet, standing by a row of unkempt graves. "Oh, yeah? And what's the reason?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock turned on his heels and walked back to him. "You, Doctor Watson, are clearly—what's wrong?"

John's face, previously smiling in a knowing glance, had turned stony and cold. "Sherlock," he said, keeping his voice flat. "Why is my name on this gravestone?"

"What are you going on about?"

"I'm serious—this doesn't make sense." John looked at the grey tombstone, completely floored, and then back up to Sherlock with a questioning glance.

And then he disappeared, silently and without struggle into the rolling mist.

" _JOHN!_ " Sherlock screamed, running to where the man before him had stood, hands outstretched to catch him and pull him back, but he backed away when he saw the angel.

The beaten down angel had a sneer on its face, as if it knew what it had just done, as if it knew what it had just destroyed.

"JOHN!" Sherlock cried hopelessly again, willing him back into existence. "John, no! No, this can't be—I need to think."

The Doctor heard the commotion and ran over immediately, his wife not far behind. "Sherlock, what is it? What's wrong?" He hissed when he saw the angel, grabbing Sherlock's shoulder and pulling him back to avoid danger. "Keep looking at it. Don't blink, not for a second. What happened?"

"How is the angel back? We destroyed them all. The paradox. It killed them."

"In any explosion, there's bound to be shrapnel," the Doctor explained. "It must have escaped. It's very weak, it just needed energy. Is John—did it take—oh, Sherlock, I am so sorry."

"He disappeared." Sherlock swallowed. "Right in front of me. He didn't even know it was happening. His name, his name was on the grave. He was confused."

"Sherlock, I'm sorry." The Doctor straightened up. "I'm so sorry. The angel took him back in time. By the looks of it, back to the 19th century. But he wouldn't have been buried here if he hadn't lived in London, so at least he was here, Sherlock."

"Is that supposed to be consolation?" he asked coldly. "That at least he died in his hometown? It was practically a different world, Doctor, how could you  _possibly_ think that is any help to him or me?"

" _Sherlock_." River cut him off from his rant. "We are sorry, but this was an accident. We could not have prevented this. I'm sorry, I truly am—I know it's not fair, but there's nothing we can do."

"The TARDIS." Sherlock was matter-of-fact. "We can get him in the TARDIS. The grave, it says he was born in 1856 there. Adjust that to his age now, so we go to London, 1892. We search for him."

"We can't," the Doctor said gravely. "Too many paradoxes in that time. If we try and get to him, we will blow a hole so big in London that no one will survive. You both will have never been born."

"So we travel to a different time. 1893, one year later. We travel to some other country, like France, and we send him a message to find us. We can pick him up that way." Sherlock was shaking with anger. "It's obvious, isn't it? We need to work around this. It's the only logical solution."

"It's not…quite that simple."

" _How is it not that simple?_ " Sherlock wheeled around, charging on the Doctor and grabbing him by the jacket. "You're a Time Lord. You and I know you don't play by the rules. Make. It. That. Simple."

"River, keep your eyes on the angel!" the Doctor choked out, aware that he and Sherlock were no longer gazing at it.

"I am."

"Now, you and I also both know there are rules that we can't play with. And this happens to be one of them," the Doctor growled, trying to shake Sherlock off. He wasn't used to being actually assaulted. "It's not just London that's off limits for us now, it's John himself. He's a paradox of his own, and if we try and throw off balance what this angel has finished, he will never be safe again. His entire life, angels will be after him until he is sent back to the very dawn of time itself, and he  _will_  die!"

" _You said we would be safe!_ "

"I LIED," the Doctor said, shoving Sherlock off. "Now, get a hold on yourself. You two were in trouble and you asked for my help, and we did the best we could to escape. This is not my fault; you do not get to take your anger out on me."

"I bloody well do!"

"Well, it won't save John!"

"BOYS!" River yelled. "Stop it, both of you! You're friends, you're allies, and you're the cleverest people in the universe. Stop your useless bickering."

Sherlock let his face, pale with unspeakable anger, slip back into its shocked mask. "You're right. I'm sorry. Doctor, forgive me. We knew the risks, and it most certainly isn't your fault."

"I'm sorry, too." The Doctor kicked a clump of dirt and inspected the grave while Sherlock and River kept their eyes on the angel. "He lived long, Sherlock. There's nothing we can do. Let's go."

"Are you sure—there's nothing we can do to bring him back?"

"Use your mind. You've thought of all the options. You know it's not possible."

The trio backed slowly toward the TARDIS.

"You can travel with us for as long as you like, Sherlock. You are always welcome, and the universe is waiting. I know," the Doctor blanched, "the pain—well, it will ease. Give it time. He's not dead, Sherlock. He's just gone."

Sherlock nodded faintly, knowing there was nothing he could do. John was gone now. He'd tried his best, but nothing in the universe, even Sherlock's own heart, could change what had happened. The best he could do was to live as best he could, and the Doctor was offering him the chance to do that.

To see the universe. Solve crimes no one in a million years could conjure up out of the imagination. To learn everything there was to know and still crave more.

"And I won't be able to see him again?"

"I'm sorry. No."

Sherlock kept back a cry and steeled his resolve as they backed away from the angel, wanting to run to the TARDIS, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

The Doctor and River were holding hands.

Such a simple thing, that. Holding hands.

A mad couple they may be, but the Doctor and his River were there for each other in the brightest moments of an adventure to the darkest. Like this moment. Here they were, in the middle of an unbelievable situation, and still they could depend on each other to do something so ordinary and believable as holding hands.

He stopped in his tracks.

The Doctor got to the TARDIS door first, opening it and pushing his wife inside before following her. Then he stuck his head out, noticing they were one person short. "Sherlock?"

"I'm—I'm not coming."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not coming with you." Sherlock took a step toward the angel. "I'm—going to follow him."

The Doctor went cold. Stepping out of the TARDIS, he approached Sherlock as if he were a wounded animal. "Wait."

"It's the only logical solution, yes? We can't take the TARDIS back because of the paradox and danger we would put John in. I noticed before that River had a vortex manipulator on her wrist, but once again, we couldn't use it to take him back because it only transports one person at a time. Furthermore, I couldn't figure out how to use it and I'd be taking it from River. And if River doesn't have it, she has no way of finding you when she needs you. So. Logical conclusion. I touch the angel and I go back, too."

"No.  _No_. You don't know that it will take you back to him. You could go anywhere."

"Could, yes. The probability of that is low. Look at the gravestone. Six inches blank under John's name. Small print. My name could fit under it. My name is  _meant_ to fit under it."

"Sherlock, I know—I know you can figure these things out. It's what makes your so brilliant, and so special, and I know this is selfish, and I would never ask you to do anything you wouldn't want to do, but think about it. Think about our universe. It needs you. It can use you. You have so much to give to it. Don't you think John would understand?"

"Of course he would. But I have so much, SO much more to give John than I could ever give to a universe alone. You have someone to hold your hand, Doctor. I don't now, and neither does he. And I can't—do anything, not a thing, without my blogger."

"Sherlock, please. Do you know what you're doing?"

"I do." Sherlock swallowed back tears. "I can't stand the thought of him living alone, knowing I did nothing to save him. He jumped for me, Doctor. He was willing to take the risk that he wouldn't come back, so what else can I do but the same thing?"

"Please. Please just come back. Sherlock, I need you." The Doctor broke down. "You're absolutely mad, but you're my best friend. We've been together for so long, and I don't know how I'm going to travel with you, let alone you and John."

"With all due respect, Doctor," Sherlock laughed softly, "you've been wonderful and I can't thank you enough for everything you've shown me, but you're not my best friend. He is." He sighed, letting a few tears fall. "And I forgot—there was something I was going to tell him."

River had slipped out of the TARDIS, sliding an arm around her shaking husband. "Doctor. You've got to let him go. It's his best chance."

"Thank you, River." Sherlock reached his hand back, which River immediately grabbed. "Make sure…you keep holding the Doctor's hand. He needs that. He needs you."

"I know."

"And I know you've been worrying that he doesn't feel the same way about you. You've been fretting about it for years. All it takes is using your brain, River. Look at the signs. He loves you more than anything."

River began to cry, too. "Thank you, Sherlock. You were wonderful. Tell John hello for me."

"Thank you," Sherlock said, voice now clearing of tears with the firm belief that this was right. He was faced with the decision to either travel the whole of time and space or give it all up for one man, and to him, there was only ever one choice. The obvious, logical choice. "I know what you're thinking, Doctor. I can't even believe it myself. But it's only ever been him for me. Me and John, together, like we should be. And I can't be without him. It's the only way I'll ever feel right."

"You are creating fixed time," groaned the Doctor. "I will  _never_ be able to see you again."

"I'll be fine. I'll be with him. It has to be this way. Tell everyone I'm sorry."

"Sherlock. Sherlock, wait.  _Wait_."

Sherlock laughed lightly, feeling the tears slide a little into his speech, and began to run full force at the angel, to his future. His faced fixed with determination, he sprinted the few yards over to the angel, whose hand was still outstretched in waiting. He flung his own hand out, preparing himself, and blinked as he closed the last few inches between them and connected hands with the statue.

And in that instant, Sherlock Holmes disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, well. Emotions. I need so much Wholock in my life, guys. I can't.
> 
> Here it is, the final chapter-it works for both endings. I realize that the order on the tombstone implies that this is the John ending, but I just needed to put an order on it, so it still works for both.
> 
> Enjoy!

" _No!_ " the Doctor cried raggedly after him, holding his hands out to the angel though he knew it was useless. He curled even closer to the ground, breaking with open, thick sobs. "No, no…please…please, bring them back,  _please_."

River sighed deeply, breathing slowly to vanquish the tears unspilled in her eyes. She entwined her hand with the Doctor's and continued to fix her eyes on the angel while her husband sobbed. "Doctor. My love, please. What does the gravestone say?"

The Doctor wiped his nose and scrambled to the gravestone, feeling the impressions under his fingertips on the cool stone.

_IN LOVING MEMORY OF_

_JOHN WATSON_

_1856-1931_

_SHERLOCK HOLMES_

_1854-1926_

_There is no fear in love,_

_but perfect love casts out fear_

"Doctor, what does it say?"

"They're both here. They made it." The Doctor sniffed. "John outlived him. Five years."

She smiled sadly. "It's better that way. If John had gone first, Sherlock would have tried to follow."

"He would have." The Doctor collected himself. "We need to get out of here. Now."

He grabbed her hand and they ran, tripping over themselves to get to the TARDIS. He pushed her inside the TARDIS first, ensuring her safety, and followed closely behind while slamming the door shut.

The TARDIS hummed sadly, witness to everything that had happened. The Doctor trudged sadly to the seat while River methodically piloted the TARDIS out of the graveyard.

For a few hours, they didn't say anything.

River kept her face stoic as she steered the TARDIS into a calmer galaxy, staring at the console stonily as she finished.

The Doctor stopped crying once inside his home and instead stared blankly straight ahead.

After a long time, River left the console and sat next to the Doctor tentatively, afraid to make a move. However, there was no need—he immediately grabbed her hand and pressed it close to his hearts, breathing deeply and taking in the warmth of her palm, the callous on her trigger finger…

He kissed her knuckle gently. "I'm sorry about that."

"It wasn't your fault. They were your friends. You'd traveled with them for…what was it? Five years? Anyone would have struggled with that."

"Thank you."

"At least they're together. They lived together until they died. They were even buried together. Can you imagine how rare that was, back then? They must have pulled a lot of strings."

"Of course they did. Any fool could see they loved each other."

"And now, we gave them the chance to say it. We gave him the choice. It's not your fault, my love," she murmured, kissing him gently on the temple. She kissed his forehead again. "The gravestone. What did it say?"

"Just their names, and the dates…and something from the Bible." His face scrunched up, trying to remember. " 'There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.' "

"That fits them," she smiled into his hair, wrapping her arms around him. He settled into her embrace and tried to let the pain release from every cell in his body. She definitely helped. She spoke again, "They didn't have any fear when they decided love was the most important. They didn't have to be afraid ever again."

"Right."

They sat in conjoined silence, closing their eyes and breathing in each other's pain.

River's blood was singing with longing and aching. She wanted, more than anything, to put the Doctor back together again. It broke her to see her two friends gone forever, but it completely shattered her to see her husband so low. She hugged him tighter and made soothing noises in his ear.

"So, they went back to London in the 19th century," she figured out at once. "They must have written the Sherlock Holmes stories. That's where they came from."

"Sherlock's blogger, a real writer. John picked a strange pseudonym."

"Doctor, don't you see?" River said excitedly. "They knew what was going to happen in the future. They knew that after they died, their past selves would go on adventures with you."

"So?"

"So—they knew we'd end up here. They must have left us  _something_." River jumped up and ran down the hall to the library. Avoiding the swimming pool in the center of the huge, wood-smelling library, River skimmed the shelves full of first editions, different languages, and found a small set of leatherbound copies of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's famous series. She pulled them all off the shelf and flipped through them all until finally, in  _His Last Bow_ , she found it.

"River, what is it?" the Doctor called, bounding into the library. River rushed to the main atrium of the library, jumping excitedly by the deep end of the Olympic size swimming pool.

"Doctor, they wrote us. They wrote us a letter!" River flipped through the pages. "Sherlock must have been in here a million times. Of COURSE he happened upon these books, and I'm sure he was curious. So when they went back and had these books published, Sherlock must have remembered which copy you were going to buy one day and written in it."

He slung one arm around her waist and peered at the old writing. "How do we know he didn't write it when we were all traveling together?"  
"Look at the date, you idiot. 1921. A few years before he died, according to his tombstone."

The Doctor read the letter on the back page intently, keeping a sigh caught in his throat.

_Dear Doctor,_

_Invariably, this copy will make it back to you. I'm not exactly sure how the temporal restrictions work on this one, but we figured it would end up in your hands at some point._

_Unless you've been peeking ahead (naughty thing), you are now reading this at some point after our "deaths", and I am sure you are quite torn up. You needn't be, not in the least._

_It didn't take long to find each other. The angel sent us back to the same street. We didn't have to travel the world, we didn't have to spend years looking and waiting until we were reunited—it was immediate. We rented 221B and lived there for the rest of our lives, solving cases and being happy. John made quite a living out of our stories, old chap. He always was brilliant. And I got to keep my blogger._

_Doctor, River—we are happy. We made the right choice, and we are not alone. I'm sure River is itching with curiosity, so I'll just tell you: yes, we both admitted our love for one another. It took a while to get used to it, but it was inevitable, from the very first time he walked into the lab. We were meant for each other. He has made me happier than any man could ever hope to be. (And he's quite a shag.)_

_He's looking over my shoulder, asking me to cross that out. I'm not going to._

_To summarize the past 33 years…well, they've been wonderful. We never could get married, but it didn't matter in the end. We adopted, a boy and a girl. We bought a house in the country (which I was dragged to, kicking and screaming and refusing to ever leave London until John showed me that he added a lab in the cellar). We lived well and long, though we seem to be slowing down. And we have missed you very much, and missed everyone we left behind. But we have never once doubted the decision we made. Touched by an angel, indeed._

_Remember us, but do not mourn us. You gave us the chance of a lifetime, and you made us realize what we never want to lose._

_Thank you._

_SH_


End file.
